


Please, bring my love back to me

by Onlythegodsarereal



Series: If third's the charm, fourth's the magic [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: 3 times +1, Angst, Badass Jean Prouvaire, Canonical Character Death, First Meeting, First Time, M/M, blink and you miss it - Freeform, courferre, enjoltaire - Freeform, jean prouvaire & feuilly friendship, jean prouvaire & louison friendship, so much Louison in a Les Mis fic? Is more likely than you think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-05-24 01:59:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14945492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onlythegodsarereal/pseuds/Onlythegodsarereal
Summary: Montparnasse. Jehan repeated the name in his head a couple of times liking the sound of it. Mount Parnassus, the house of the Muses. Grantaire would had probably found it ironic but to him it was a Fate’s sign, an omen for something. He couldn’t tell yet if it were good or bad.Or three times Jehan asked Montparnasse to go away and one time Montparnasse asked him to stay.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Am I already back with the second fic of this series? Yes, because I had so much fun with the last! As always a big thank you to my beta lawrofsakaar. Hope you'll enjoy it!

1.

Jehan loved walking through Paris. He especially loved walking through Paris in the middle of the night when the streets were silent except for the howling of cats and some footsteps in the shadows, and the sky was full of stars. It still wasn’t so late as to be the kind of quiet night he loved most. There was still life in the streets, people entering and exiting bars and cafés, chanting of drunkards in the alleys, the calls of prostitutes in the dark, and the shouts of gamins running. It might not have been his favorite time of the day, but Jehan loved it nonetheless.

He was making his way to the Corinthe where he knew he was going to find Grantaire and Bahorel and probably more of his friends. He was observing a stray cat walking on the rooftops illuminated by the moon when he heard a muffled scream coming from an alley to his right.

He knew thieves were pretty numerous in his lovely city and he also knew that this was their favorite time of the day when the night was dark enough to hide them and the people in the streets were drunk enough not to require too much effort. Jehan knew most of the people who met him usually said that he was timid and he liked to define himself as a reflective mind, but he was not a coward, so he entered the narrow alley with the purpose of helping whoever was in danger.

The alley was dark. Without the light of the lampposts, it was difficult to tell what was happening, but Jehan’s eyes soon got used to the dark and he was able to make out two figures. One, lean and tall, with a top hat, was hovering over a second one crouched on the ground near the wall.

“There’s no need for anyone to get hurt,” the first figure said. “Just give me your purse and I’ll let you go.”

His voice was smooth and self-assured and a little annoyed, the voice of a man who knew what he was doing and did it often enough to find it boring.

“Please, I just borrowed this money. It’s not mine,” the second person begged, clearly on the verge of tears.

The thief hummed and reached for something in his coat. When his hand emerged again, the light of the moon hit the small object making it shine in the dark: it was a knife. Jehan didn’t wait for another second, he stepped forward and cleared his throat. The thief turned immediately towards him, the knife in his hand.

“Is someone here to play hero?” He asked Jehan, his voice menacing.

“I’m just here to take his place,” he answered simply, taking his purse out of his pocket. “I’m sure I have more money than some poor soul who needs to borrow them. Let him go and I’ll give my purse to you. There’s no need for anyone to get hurt.” He repeated the words of the thief and he heard him snorting.

“And what would stop me from taking both your money and his?”

Jehan’s heart stopped in his chest. He hadn’t thought about that. He had to think fast.

“Let him go and I’ll give mine to you without a fight. Try to take his money or harm him and I’ll run out of here and call the police. You’ll lose my money and with a little luck you’ll pass the night in prison,” Jehan answered. He could hear his heart beating in his chest, but he was starting to feel almost relaxed, at ease in the danger. Some seconds passed in perfect silence before the thief made two steps backward. The poor man scrambled to stand up, but the other stopped him with a vicious grip on his elbow.

“The money first.”

Jehan moved to the middle of the alley, a couple of steps away from the two men and let his purse fall to the ground. The thief freed the other man who ran towards the end of the alley and disappeared in the night. Jehan found himself with the thief’s knife at his throat while the man was testing the purse with his foot.

“You should be grateful I don’t scar you for the trouble you put me through,” the thief said while picking up the bag from the ground still pointing the knife at Jehan.

“Go on then. I’ll wear this scar with pride, a reminder of the night I helped a man feed his family,” replied the poet without a hint of the fear that filled his heart at that moment. The thief laughed. He had a musical laugh almost out of place from such a ruthless man.

“How do you know he’s not going to pay some of Montmartre’s bitches with that money?”

“I don’t, but if he’s going to it’ll mean I’ll help a poor fallen sister eat her dinner or pay her rent.”

Jehan saw the other man smirk. The alley remained silent for what felt like interminable minutes then the thief spoke again.

“Walk under the light where I can see you,” he said pointing at the main street with his knife.

“Why?”

“Just do it, little bird.”

Jehan did as he was told and stopped by the soft light of the lamppost. He turned towards the thief and noticed he had followed him but he had remained hidden in the shadows.

“How can you go around with so much money and dress like that?” He asked incredulous leaning with a shoulder against the brick wall.

“How can this possibly concern you?” Asked Jehan exasperated. The thief’s behavior was more annoying than frightening but he still felt the need to get away from the man.

“Fashion always concerns me.”

“Is this why you wanted to see me under the light? To comment on my fashion choices?”

The thief laughed again.

“No, it was so I’ll know who I need to search for when I need to rob some rich man again.”

Then, he tipped his hat and disappeared in the darkness.

Jehan took a long and calming breath, turned toward the busier street and continued his walk towards the Corinthe. As he had imagined, at the inn, on the first floor, there were already Grantaire and Bahorel sat at a table at the back of the room.

“Our dear Prouvaire!” Bahorel greeted him excitedly. “We thought we were going to remain just the three of us this evening.”

“Three?” Asked Jehan looking around the room searching for another one of their friends.

“Courfeyrac went downstairs to order, but I fear he lost himself in the eyes of some pretty girl,” answered Grantaire, his eyes half closed, probably already heavy from the alcohol he had consumed.

“It’ll be best if I go to give him a hand then,” said Bahorel sitting up.

“With the order not with the girl, I hope,” called Jehan after him eliciting a raucous laugh from Grantaire.

“Where are your faithful partners of revelry, my dear R?” Jehan asked the artist meaning obviously Bossuet and Joly. “They took Musichetta to the Opera. They asked me to come with them but I wasn’t in the mood. I couldn’t have stood their happiness today.”

“I understand, sometimes the perfect happiness of those near us seems a reminder of the fact that others have achieved it and the universe won’t be kind enough to bestow that happiness upon us.”

Grantaire opened his eyes to fix his glassy stare on him with just a hint of surprise.

“Aren’t you in a melancholic-poet mood this evening? Has something happened?”

“No, nothing, your words inspired me, that’s all. Where are the other two-thirds of our Triumvirate? Courfeyrac hadn’t been able to convince them to join him?”

While R started a detailed account of how Courfeyrac tried and failed miserably to convince Enjolras and Combeferre to follow him at the Corinthe, Jehan reflected on why he decided to lie to Grantaire and consequently his friends about the episode with the thief. It wasn’t like there was something to be ashamed about. In fact, had he been another one of his friends, like Bahorel or Grantaire or even Bossuet, there would have been no doubt they wouldn’t have heard the end of it for months. Jehan had never been the type to brag but he had never been the type to hide something from his friends either.

He imagined the mysterious thief laughing at his confusion and felt a rush of annoyance surge through him. He decided it would be for the better to forget about that little adventure, and instead, he cheerfully greeted the arrival of Courfeyrac and Bahorel with the wine.

Much later, he headed towards his lodgings a little unsure on his legs, but happy and light, the memories of the evening blurry and distant.

It was finally that time of the night. The time which Jehan loved most of all: no sound or movement disrupted the peace of the night, only the stars up in the distant sky seemed to sing a mysterious and ineffable hymn lost in the flowing of time.

Oh, he should write that.

A sudden movement in the nearby alley made him jump and nearly cry out in surprise, but nothing happened and Jehan leaned on the wall with a sigh of relief and a hand on his beating heart. It must have been a stray cat. He was too drunk and probably a little paranoid after what had happened early that evening. It was better if he got to his lodgings as fast as possible to sleep away the alcohol.

Once at his apartment, he fumbled for his keys, but they fell to the ground with a loud clang. In the dead silence of the building, they resounded like a cannonball. He shushed them and then laughed at his own gesture. It was in that moment that he heard at his back a musical laugh. Jehan turned, immediately panicking recognizing the voice of the thief. He pressed himself against his own door and tried to make out the silhouette of the man in the dark.

“Do you need a hand there, little bird?” The thief asked him clearly amused.

“What are you doing here?” He demanded while blindly searching for the door’s handle.

“I followed you, of course.”

“What I gave you before wasn’t enough?”

If he were able to distract him long enough, he could open the door quickly so the man would not be able to follow him inside, he thought hopefully.

“That’s not the reason I’m here,” he said smiling. In the dark his white teeth nearly shined.

“And what is it then?”

“I wanted to see you again,” he answered, and his voice this time had something odd to it, Jehan would have said insecurity if he hadn’t been sure the criminal couldn’t feel such an emotion.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” He found the keyhole and tried to slide the key inside in the slowest possible way. It was a tricky game in the complete silence of the hallway with the alcohol still flowing in his veins, but Jehan was nothing but determined.

“Little bird, I can’t believe I’m the first man who tells you how pretty you are.”

At those words, the thief stepped forward, just a breath away from Jehan who froze on the spot. At that distance, the poet could make out the edges of the figure in front of him, the high cheekbones, the small nose, the top hat. A small part of him wondered if he were as handsome as his silhouette in the dark lead Jehan to believe.

“Usually the men or women that tell me so don’t point a knife at my throat,” he answered trying to sound calm.

“Are you going to blame me for doing my job?” He asked with a smirk.

Jehan didn’t answer: he found the keyhole and opened the door in one swift movement practically falling inside. He tried to close it with a kick but the thief was quicker and blocked it with a hand.

“No need to panic, little bird, I’m not here to hurt you,” he said.

The light of the moon filtered through the windows of the apartment and illuminated the figure of the other man. He was indeed handsome. Jehan couldn’t tell if it was the face which seemed carved from marble itself or the way he posed like he knew he commanded all the attention in the room. Probably both.

“How can I know that?” Asked Jehan still half lying on the floor.

“Well, you can’t. Not for sure at least, but you can choose to trust me when I said that if I wanted to rob or kill you I would have already done it.”

“Reassuring.”

“It should be.”

“So, what are you doing here? Do you plan on court me or something like that?” Asked Jehan in disbelief while starting to stand up. This was a conversation that had to be done at the same level, even if the thief had a couple of inches on him.

“Yes, something like that,” the man answered with a smile that could have charmed the coldest heart in Paris.

“I can’t believe it!” Exclaimed Jehan in shock. “Your audacity is indescribable. You were pointing a knife at my throat earlier this evening.”

“You seem quite fixated on that moment. Did you like it?” Asked the other man with a smirk as he stepped forward, causing Jehan to step back.

“I despised every second of it as I despised each one of your actions.”

The thief moved one hand to rest over his heart as if Jehan had wounded him.

“As I’ve already said, that’s my job. Not everyone can live on their parents’ fortune. I won’t lie to you. If you had lied to me or tried something stupid or heroic, I would have killed you, but that didn’t happen. In fact, the way you acted made me feel the need to meet you again. That’s why I followed you. And let me tell you, if you asked me now not to rob someone, I probably would obey.”

“Oh really?” Asked Jehan incredulously. He had to admit the thief’s little speech had touched him, not for the actual words but more for the tone in which he had said it, so open and sincere, bare of every shame one could feel talking of his own emotions.

“I’m only speaking the truth.”

“It seems hard to believe.”

“What can I say? You charmed me.”

“So dramatic.”

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it.” said the thief as he took another step forward. This time Jehan remained in place and he saw a corner of the thief’s mouth turning up in victory.

“What is your name?” Asked the poet.

“Montparnasse.”

“Only Montparnasse?”

“No need for a family name when you have no family,” answered Montparnasse with a shrug.

Montparnasse. Jehan repeated the name in his head a couple of times liking the sound of it. Mount Parnassus, the house of the Muses. Grantaire would have probably found it ironic but to him, it was a Fate’s sign, an omen for something. He couldn’t tell yet if it were good or bad.

“And can I ask you your name, or should I keep calling you little bird?” Asked Montparnasse.

“I really don’t like that.”

“You’re right, I probably should start calling you robin,” he said gently, taking a strand of the poet’s fair red hair between two fingers and letting it slide through them with an enraptured look on his face like he had never seen anything like it before.

“Jean Prouvaire,” the young poet breathed out, feeling his knees melting. “It is my name, but you should call me Jehan.”

“Jehan,” repeated the other man with a satisfied look.

“Well, now, Montparnasse,” he smiled at the way the thief’s face lit up when he said his name, “I’m afraid I’ll need to ask you to go away.”

Even if Montparnasse’s expression didn’t change, Jehan didn’t miss the flash of hurt in the man’s eyes.

“Can I ask the reason of this request?” He asked moving his hand back to his side.

“I don’t care if you’re a thief or not, but I’ll not let anyone try to court me at night, in my own apartment, uninvited, moreover while I’m slightly tipsy.”

That time when Montparnasse smiled Jehan didn’t try to hide how his eyes followed the movement of the fine mouth.

“Don’t say court. I’d prefer the word woo, it better describes what I’m going to do with you.”

“I sure hope so, Montparnasse, but now let me go to sleep.”

The thief smiled at him sweetly and nodded before heading to the door.

“Wait!” Called Jehan before he could disappear in the dark hallway. “How can I contact you?”

“Stop some gamin on the street and tell him to send a message to Montparnasse. They always know how to find me.”

“You’re an interesting man,” considered Jehan with a smirk.

“I do my best,” he responded and made a dramatic bow before closing the door.

Jehan remained still looking at the door for a few seconds before sitting on his armchair by the window. He watched the dark figure disappearing down one of the narrow streets and reached for one of his numerous notebooks scattered around the apartment. There was a quill and a bottle of ink balanced on the arm rest. He started writing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, i forgot to say the last time that I'll usually post on saturday (and I'm already late, uh). Here's the second chapter and here's my usual thanks to my incredible beta. Hope you'll like it!

2.

As he did every morning, Jehan headed to the Musain to have breakfast and to keep Louison company before his morning lectures.

He loved waking up early, and he would usually arrive at the Musain just after the opening time when it was still empty and it was only the young waitress in there and a few clients. He liked the calm and warm atmosphere of the semi-deserted café, and the little quirks of the Musain’s clients were always a source of inspiration. He would usually enter from the kitchen where he was more likely to find Louise so early in the morning.

That day she was on the threshold of the kitchen speaking with a poor girl who had the look of someone living on the street. When the poet approached, the stranger girl glanced in his direction, gave a nod to Louise and disappeared in the narrow alleys.

“Who was that?” He asked Louise when he arrived at the door.

“She’s a beggar at the church down the street. Her name’s Eponine. I give her and her sister breakfast sometimes. Heaven knows they need it,” she answered picking up a pile of clean tablecloths.

“I imagine your parents don’t know about this.”

Louise’s parents weren't exactly charitable people. They worked hard and thought that the poor were just people too lazy to actually get a job. They usually disapproved of every type of charity. Louise shrugged.

“Of course not. It’s like they don’t remember what it was like,” she said walking in the kitchen.

“What what was like?” Aked Jehan distractedly while following her and trying to see what pastries she had baked for breakfast that day.

“Living on the streets, having to beg for money before they owned the café.”

Jehan stopped.

“You lived on the street?” H asked baffled. It couldn’t be. Louison’s family had always owned the Musain.

“Yes, you know that. Before mother and father inherited this place.”

“No, I didn’t know. I doubt anyone knows.”

Louison shrugged again, like it wasn’t important, and resumed putting the tablecloths in the right cabinet.

“Feuilly knows. Ask him.”

Jehan didn’t insist. He knew Louise and he knew when she wanted to end a conversation and he also knew that it wasn’t any use to push her. If she had wanted him to know, she would have told him herself.

“I’ll ask him. Let’s gossip a bit now.” He saw Louise rolling her eyes and he had to suppress a laugh.

“I’m not going to tell you what Marius’s mysterious love’s name is,” she said firmly.

“I don’t need that,” he said with a self-satisfied grin.

“You don’t?” She asked surprised, or at least Jehan guessed she was surprised, Louise's expressions were all very similar, honestly.

He nodded.

“Marius told me.”

She remained in silence for a couple seconds too long and Jehan could feel her struggling to hide a smile.

“Well, if Marius told you, you must know her name,” she commented enigmatically.

“What does that mean, Louison?” He asked suspiciously approaching her slowly.

“Nothing,” she said turning suddenly to put some pastries on a tray.

“Louise.”

“Jehan, I don’t-ah!”

Louison had to stop suddenly because the young man had attacked her sides and had started poking her with his fingers making her laugh and nearly double over.

“Jehan! Stop it," she cried breathless, trying to escape but Jehan stopped her and took her by the waist making her spin in the air. She laughed even harder.

“I won’t stop until you tell me the truth,” he said making her spin again.

“Jehan, someone could hear us,” she warned him with a smile still on her face.

“Oh, let them hear. They’ll believe you’re having an affair. You won’t be the first nor the last girl.”

“Yes, that’s true, but their gossips will arrive at my mother and then you won’t be allowed in here ever again.”

“You have a point,” he said and left her. She stumbled a little and hurried to fix her skirt and hat. She was red in the face and breathing heavily. She seemed happy and carefree, a look which was difficult to spot on her face, usually so serious and concerned.

“I have reason to believe Marius doesn’t know her real name," she finally admitted.

“You have?”

She nodded.

“After he told me about this Ursula, I asked around, discretely of course, but there’s no Ursula who answers his description.”

“Are you sure?”

“Enough, yes.”

“Are you going to tell poor Marius?”

“I don’t think so, I doubt he’s any closer to finding out who she is, so there’s no reason to take away from him his only certainty.”

“You’re probably right. Anyway, I didn’t want to ask you about Marius, I wanted to ask about Courfeyrac and Combeferre.”

“What about them?” She asked in surprise.

“You haven’t noticed Courfeyrac went home with Combeferre at least four nights this week?”

“Only four? Usually, Courfeyrac goes home with Combeferre or Enjolras every night.”

“I doubt Enjolras is involved in this,” he commented with half a smile.

“You have too much imagination. Talking of Enjolras, do you understand what happened between him and R the other morning? It was quite strange.”

“I knew it!” He exclaimed victoriously.

“What?”

“You always say you hate gossips but here you are gossiping about two of our friends!” He nearly shouted pointing a finger at her. Louison stared him into silence. 

“I’m just worried about them. Their relationship is already tense enough and I really can’t understand why.”

“I’ll explain it to you when you’re older," he said with a smirk stealing a pastry from the trail only to have it snatched back by Louison. 

“Very funny. But I’m being serious here and you’re being of no help. You’re like Courfeyrac, you see romance everywhere.”

“I see Romance everywhere, with a grand R.”

“I hope that’s not a pun about Grantaire or something like that." She said visibly annoyed while Jehan laughed. Louise really had the power to brighten his day. 

“So, is my usual table free?” He asked heading to the main room, mostly empty apart for two workers sitting at the counter drinking black coffee. 

“You know it is. I’ll bring you your usual breakfast.”

After that, they didn’t talk much. Louise worked and when she could afford it, she sat at Jehan’s table and listened to him reading from his book or from his writings. Sometimes they discussed some interesting passages. When more people started arriving Louison's two younger brothers showed up to help her, yet she had less time to keep Jehan company. So, the young poet smiled happily when he saw Bahorel entering the café even if on his face there was a dark expression.

“My dear friend, such a pleasure to see you here. What is disrupting your famously good mood?” Jehan asked him when the law student approached his table. Bahorel didn’t take a seat. Instead, he stood in front of him frowning, his arms crossed on his chest.

“Why is a member of the Patron-Minette asking for a meeting with you?” Bahorel asked him in a low and hard voice.

Jehan looked at him wide-eyed, he had no idea what he was talking about. It was like Bahorel was talking to someone else.

“My dear, what you just said makes no sense to me.”

“Don’t play the idiot with me, Prouvaire,” he warned the poet, his voice now thundering, maybe a little too much because Louison approached them preoccupied.

“Is everything alright?” She asked glancing between the two of them. 

Jehan moved to answer but Bahorel beat him.

“He’s having an affair with Montparnasse!” He exclaimed throwing his arms in the air. 

“Lower your voice,” ordered Louise in a whisper eyeing some of the patrons leaning in to listen.

“Jehan, is he speaking the truth?” She asked him then, turning towards the poet with a worried expression.

“Who I do or do not spend my time with is not your concern,” he answered proudly and a little annoyed. It was typical of their group of friends to put their noses in each others’ affairs, and he wasn’t completely blameless himself, but none of them had ever become judgemental not even when Courfeyrac frequented that Countess.

Louise sat near him.

“Jehan, do you know what he does for a living?” She asked him, her big and gentle eyes filled with worry. 

He couldn’t hold a grudge against her.

“Yes, I know he’s a thief, but…” He sighed.

“And a murderer!” Shot Bahorel.

“Hush! People are listening. But Bahorel’s right, Jehan, Montparnasse is not the most recommendable person in Paris.”

“To put it mildly,” commented Bahorel under his breath.

“What? Are you afraid he’s going to murder me in my sleep and steal my jewelry? I know you think I’m a delicate flower, but I can take care of myself.”

“You can take care of yourself walking at night in a dark ally, but we’re talking about sharing your bed with a known ruthless murderer,” said Bahorel low enough not to be reprimanded by Louise but still with a hard tone.

“He’s not going to hurt me,” Jehan replied trying very hard not to blush after the mention of his bed and Montparnasse being anywhere near it.

“I bet he said this to you. He’s a liar, Prouvaire, he tells lies for a living, other than robbing and killing people, that is. How can you even stand to be in the same room with him? How can you stand to let him touch you?” Bahorel was literally spitting now and Jehan felt his heart filling with rage. His friend had no right to judge Montparnasse in that way.

“He does what he does to stay alive, Bahorel! Not everyone can write to his parents to send them money for a new tailored vest. If Feuilly lost his job tomorrow and resorted to stealing to eat, would you stop seeking his company?” He asked standing up and confronting the law student. Bahorel was still much taller than him though and he kept looking down at him.

“Feuilly would never kill for his own interest!” He nearly shouted and Louison got up suddenly between the two of them. 

“Stop it. Both of you. You’re making a scene. So, either you get out of here or you sit down and start discussing it as adults again. Was I clear?”

They nodded and sat down at the table.

Jehan was still offended but he didn’t want to give a show to the rest of the café.

“Now I have work to do. Don’t make me come over here again, Louise said before heading to the counter.

“How did you even know about me and Montparnasse?” Jehan asked after a moment of tense silence.

“I met a gamin just before entering the Musain. I asked him if he needed some money for buying breakfast and, well, long story short he told me that Montparnasse was meeting you in front of the Musain after breakfast, because, apparently, he already knows that you have breakfast here every morning.”

But Jehan wasn’t listening to him anymore. He had stood up and was moving towards the exit.

“Jehan!”

He turned quickly ready to tell Bahorel to stay out of his business, but before he could even stop, he realized Louison had been the one calling him. 

“You’ve got something to add?” hìHe asked her, unable to hide his anger. 

She seemed taken aback from his tone, but it lasted for just one moment. 

“No, but this is the last time you give him an appointment near the Musain.”

This time was Jehan’s turn to be surprised.

“Louise…”

“Listen, you want to waste your time with him? Your choice. But I’m not putting the reputation of this place in jeopardy because you have a sudden interested in criminals. Now I think your thief is waiting for you.”

Jehan opened his mouth to respond but found that he was at a loss for words. He smiled tightly and got out as quickly as possible.

And there he was.

Through the barrier of people walking up and down the street, the carriages, the horses and the carts, Montparnasse was leaning against a brick wall, as relaxed and self-assured as always. He had a red rose in one hand.

“I was starting to think you’d never get out of that place,” he said with a smirk that disappeared when his eyes focused on Jehan’s face.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to talk about it. Not here at least," the poet answered passing a hand over his face. He suddenly felt very tired. 

“It’s Louise’s fault, isn’t it? Does she know about me?” Montparnasse asked and he seemed annoyed.

“Louise? How do you know her?” Jehan regretted the question the moment it got out of his mouth. Montparnasse’s expression hardened immediately and he really wasn’t in the mood for another discussion. He just wanted to go for a walk in the park with Montparnasse and listen to him trying to woo him with adventurous tales about secret spots and the mysterious people of Paris.

“I knew her when we were little, but I’m not surprised she didn’t tell you since when they started working in that place she and her whole family became little bourgeoises with shit under their noses. Always looking down on people like me.”

“Louison isn’t like that.”

“Believe me, she is. She can hide it under that quiet girl attitude, but she is as ambitious and sanctimonious as her parents.”

“No, she isn’t like that. You don’t know how she struggles to be different from her parents, from her sister. It’s not easy for her.”

“Yes, I can imagine," commented Montparnasse with a sarcastic scoff. "I wonder if you'll defend me with the same fervor when she tries to convince you to leave me." 

Yes, I would. I did. I just argued with two of my dearest friends in the world because of you, thought Jehan. And for what? For the right to spend some time with his lover? Could you call someone your lover if you hadn’t even properly touched yet? Was he ever going to let Montparnasse in his bed?

“What are you doing here Montparnasse?” He asked tiredly. he felt light-headed, like when you stand up too quickly after being under the sun for too long. 

“I’m here to woo you. I already told you that," Montparnasse answered with determination, every sign of bitterness disappearing from his voice. He looked at him with adoration like Jehan was a coffer ready to be opened to reveal magical treasures. He put his face in his hands. "You don't understand, I'll never.... you're wasting your time with me. Every time I close my eyes there is a voice in the back of my head reminding me of who you are and I'm reminded that the right thing to do would be send you away for good. I'd wish I could spend just one night with you and then send you away..." 

He had to fight against a sob.

Montparnasse hands were suddenly on his, freeing his face.

“Then don’t close your eyes, robin, keep watching me.”

“I think you should go.”

Montparnasse looked at him in silence but didn’t let go if his hands.

“If you want me to, I’ll go, just say the word and you’ll never see me again.”

Jehan laughed an empty laugh.

“I’m afraid I’m too selfish to do something like that, but this won’t change anything, you’ll never have what you're searching for.”

“You don’t know what I’m searching for, robin. All I want is to woo you as I’ve already said a thousand times. Anything else is just unnecessary.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not worth that, no one is.”

The thief shrugged. “You’re entitled to your own opinion.”

“You’re not going to change who you are because of me,” Jehan commented shaking his head in defeat.

He couldn’t explain what he felt himself. He knew Montparnasse wasn’t the monster the other depicted, but at the same time when he caressed him he couldn’t help but wonder whose blood marred the criminal’s alabaster skin. Society made him who he was but given the chance would he change? He couldn’t stop being intrigued by the man, like the verse of a hermetic and obscure poem, but at the same time, he couldn’t let him come too close for the fear of drowning in the man’s life.

What if welcoming him into his bed was the first step to Jehan beginning to justify all of his actions?

“No, I’m not" Montparnasse agreed with gravity. "Like you're not going to change who you are because of me, maybe we can achieve something else." 

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. I’ll hope we’ll find out.”

He handed him the red rose, beautiful and delicate, it must just have bloomed as it was still wet with morning dew. Jehan looked at him for some long seconds, searching for something, maybe a lie, a mask, a sign of his cruelty, but Montparnasse seemed just truly and completely sincere. He took the rose.

“I believe it’s time for you to go now," he said and before Montparnasse could protest he added. "I’ll send a message to tell you where to find me tonight. I think it’s better if we don’t see each other near the Musain anymore. You may not like her, but I value Louison’s friendship.”

“As you wish, my dear robin,” Montparnasse said with a smirk and a bow and before Jehan could say anything else he had disappeared in the crowd.

Jehan sighed. He wondered for a moment if it was better to go back home, but he didn’t like leaving his friends without even trying to make up, so he turned and headed back to the Musain.

On the bench at the entrance of the café was Feuilly, he leaned his head on the wall and he was whistling some popular song which Jehan couldn’t remember the words to.

“Good morning, Prouvaire," he greeted the poet with a warm smile that Jehna couldn't help but return. 

“Feuilly, if you’re here to say your opinion on my personal affairs, I’m really not in the mood,” he warned approaching.

“Actually, I was here to give you this, I have to go back to work in a couple of minutes.”

He reached under the bench and pulled out a little jute bag filled with earth and with a tiny green sprout peering from the edge. Jehan moved immediately to take it in his hands and study it with curiosity.

“I saw it out of the back door of the factory, I have no idea of what it is but I’m guessing it’ll be happier in your care than where it was.”

“Thank you, Feuilly, it’s beautiful," said the young poet sitting next to his friend on the bench.

“You’re welcome." He glanced quickly towards the Musain. "Louise is not angry with you, you know? Bahorel is. But you know how he gets. He’ll do the mother hen for a couple of days, then he’ll accept whatever you’re happy with. Louise, on the other hand, is really angry, but with Montparnasse.”

“With Montparnasse?”

“She’s afraid he’ll put you in danger. She cares about you a lot. If it helps, I believe Montparnasse will do anything in his power to keep you out of his business.”

Jehan couldn’t tell if that information helped or not, but he didn’t voice his feelings.

“Now you’ll tell me you know Montparnasse from the days you lived on the street with him and Louison, right?” Asked Jehan shaking his head. And he thought to know his friends so well.

“Louise’s sister too, Ida, and other kids, a couple of them work at the fans’ factory with me, we were a fun bunch.”

“I can imagine. Was Montparnasse… I mean, was he…” he stuttered blushing.

“A thief? We all were, we had to eat. Then some of us got lucky, like Louise and Ida." He gestured towards the Musain behind them. "And I can’t complain, of course. Parnasse had the misfortune to hear a young lady calling him handsome and decided he wanted to dress well too so he hadn’t a lot of options. Or maybe you want to hear that it has always been in his heart to become a ruthless criminal feared in all of Paris.”

Jehan put his face in his hands.

“I don’t know what I want to hear, honestly. That it was Fate, society, hunger….that he made this choice for himself. Maybe my biggest error is trying to find a way to justify myself.”

“You have always had the soul of a philosopher as much as one of a poet but hear the advice of a simple fan maker."

Jehan moved to protest but Feuilly stopped him with a smile on his lips.

"Life throws a lot of things our way. Some can make us sad or angry or desperate. Some can make us smile and be happy and passionate. The trick is cherishing the second ones. It’s not always easy, obviously. Think about it, would you?”

“I promise.”

Feuilly squeezed his shoulder and stood up.

“Now I’ll have to go to work, have a good day, Jean Prouvaire.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand I's late, sorry (again). As Always thanks lawrofsakaar, my incredible beta. Hope you'll like it!

3.

Montparnasse’s lips were soft and sweet under his. The thief’s mouth opened pliant under the poet’s silent request and Jehan felt in heaven. Their breath was frantic, their movements erratic, they were inelegantly walking back towards the bed. Jehan was trying to undress Montparnasse without breaking the kiss and, at the same time, touching every new inch of exposed alabaster skin. Montparnasse’s hands had untied his hair and they were stroking and pulling and caressing eliciting all kinds of sounds from Jehan.

When they finally reached the bed, Jehan practically shoved Montparnasse onto it and the thief chuckled breathlessly his dark eyes never leaving the poet’s figure. Jehan had managed to undress him quite well and he was then propping on his elbows with his shirt opened revealing the pale and firm planes of his stomach and his trousers half down his tights.

Jehan wanted to write hundreds of sonnets on that image alone, but in that moment, he had a better job to do. He fell between his lover’s legs and started leaving a trail of hungry kisses down the other’s torso, Montparnasse sighed contentedly and then moaned when Jehan flicked his tongue in his navel. Every sound that he wrung from him was music to his ears, every movement of Montparnasse, his every shiver, seemed a marvelous dance only he could decipher. When his mouth arrived at Montparnasse’s crotch, he felt hands back in his hair tugging slightly, and a moan escaped his lips. he mouthed at the light fabric feeling the other’s cock stirring, but then the tugging became more insistent forcing him to look up.

Montparnasse’s face was breathtakingly beautiful as always, even more with a slight flush coloring his usually candid face, his lips red and wet from the kissing and biting and his eyes dark and bright with lust. But after a second look, Jehan noticed something else in those eyes, something he didn’t like at all because it seemed like fear and hurt.

“What’s wrong Parnasse?” He asked immediately, a hand reaching for the other man’s cheek, but Montparnasse jerked away.

“Why are you doing this?” His voice was unsure and desperate and Jehan didn’t know how to react to such emotions coming from his strong and brave Parnasse.

“Well, it seems quite obvious to me,” he answered lightly, almost with a laugh.

He had used oceans of ink putting on paper the reason why he wanted to touch Montparnasse, to feel him, to smell his perfume on his clothes and on his bedsheets, why he wanted to see his eyes gleaming in the throes of passion, but somehow, he felt like that wasn’t the answer his lover was searching for. Montparnasse kneeled on the bed, away from Jehan, and looking the wall in front of him with a cold expression.

“For months and months, the only thing you allowed me to do was to barely touch your hand when no one was watching. And I could accept that, I was happy with that because the only thing that I wanted was to stay around you, bask in your light for the time you could allow me.”

“Montparnasse, you’re worrying me,” he whispered not moving from his spot on the carpet, but the thief ignored him and went on talking, always staring coldly at the wall.

“And then, out of nowhere, you give me this, your affection, your body. Coincidentally, the day after you learned about her engagement.”

Jehan didn’t need to ask who that ‘her’, spat out with such disdain, was. 

“How do you know about Louison’s engagement?” He wondered surprised.

The young woman had been so secretive about it, Enjolras had almost thought she was about to tell them about some spy in the Musain before she made the big announcement. Probably Jehan would have preferred the spy.

“Ida told me about it," the other muttered.

Oh yes, Louise’s sister. Well, that would have explained it. It was a surprise Ida hadn’t affixed announcements all over the city.

“Do you want to know if I was upset because of that?” He asked the other with a sigh. Now that the truth was in the open, he started to understand Montparnasse’s behavior and was more than determined to put things back in order.

“I don’t need to ask you. Eponine told me you and Louise had a quarrel yesterday evening.”

“It seems like there’s nothing you don’t know,” he commented only partially sarcastically. The number of things Montparnasse could discover if interested was frankly impressive.

“Do you love her?” His voice was so fragile, Jehan wanted to hold him in his arms and make him understand how wrong he was.

“I do love her. Like a sister, Montparnasse, and because I love her so much I argued with her, because I doubt she loves the man she’s going to marry, and she delicately told me to mind my own businesses. That’s why we were quarreling, it was not a scene of jealousy, you must believe me.”

“But she loves you.”

Jehan laughed.

“I doubt that too.”

“How do you know that?”

He shrugged and decided it was safe enough now to climb onto the bed near him.

“I know her, and I suspect she already gave her heart to someone else.”

Montparnasse was still facing the wall and not him but had accepted his presence on the bed without complaining so he deduced they were making steps forward.

“Ponine said that you cried.”

“Well, your friend Eponine is another person who should mind her own business, but yes, I cried. If you really want to know, I was upset because not only did she not tell me she had a suitor but also because she’s going to live in another city. I felt like she had lied to me for months.”

Montparnasse stood up suddenly. He was completely naked and the light of the moon reflected on his beautiful body. Jehan had almost forgotten what they were about to do when they entered the room and desire for the man in front of him surged again like a flame.

“Would you please ask me to go away?” Montparnasse whispered. He caressed the carved wardrobe next to bed absently as if what he had just said made complete sense.

“Why should I ask you to go away?”

“Because I can’t convince myself to do it, but if you asked I couldn’t refuse. That’s how much of my soul I gave to you, Jean Prouvaire,” he said his voice veiled with anger.

He opened the wardrobe’s door revealing the hidden mirror. In the dark of the room, the only things reflecting in the glass were his silhouette and his bright eyes.

“And I thought I made quite clear how much I appreciated this gift and I was going to bare myself to you, my body and my spirit, and let yourself take from me everything you wanted in return.”

“I don’t want to steal anything from you," Montparnasse declared angrily punching the mirror with force, worrying Jehan more than he already was.

“You really are in a strange mood tonight, Montparnasse,” he commented and reached for his lover’s clothes. It was clear they needed to have a long chat before going on with what he had had in mind earlier.

“Do you remember what you told me, the first time I came to search for you at the Musain?”

Jehan remembered that day. It had been also the last time the thief came to the café.

“The time I fought with Bahorel and Louise, right?" Montparnasse nodded. "I told you many things that day, Parnasse. You ought to be more specific.”

“You told me that you wished you could have me for just one time and then leave me.”

Those words hanged in the air. Frozen in time and space like horrible scars that marred the usual loving atmosphere between the two men.

“Is this what is this all about?” Asked Jehan incredulously. 

“I thought I could accept it, that I was going to take everything you would give me, even just one night and maybe at first it was true, but it hasn’t been so for long, robin. I love you and the idea that I’m going to have just this, just for tonight, only because you’re upset and want to pay Louiseback… I can’t take it. I’m sorry.”

Jehan knew he had to say something, anything really. He had never heard Montparnasse saying anything more wrong and he had discussed the matter of revolution with him long enough to hear an awful lot of wrong things. All the same, he couldn’t help but look the white back of the thief in shocked silence. Montparnasse was trembling, maybe from the chill of early April air, or maybe from something else.

The poet rose up calmly, slowly. He put his rosy fingers on the pale shoulders of his lover and silently thanked God when he wasn’t pushed away. He kept one hand on the thief’s shoulder while the other one tenderly descended to the other man’s arm. He started peppering kisses along Montparnasse’s shoulder blades, his collarbones, his neck. His lover sighed, but he sounded broken.

“It’s clear that you made some very wrong assumptions here, my dear," Jehan said without stopping kissing beautiful skin. "And the fault is mine. I was so concerned trying to justify myself for being so attracted to your body, your mind, and your soul that I completely neglected your feelings and for this, I’m incredibly sorry. I hope you can forgive me.”

He circled him stopping in front of him. Montparnasse stared into his eyes, a decision made. His stare burned him when Montparnasse looked at him that way he always found it difficult to breathe.

“Well, correct me then, robin,” he said and Jehan kissed him fiercely and passionately, trying to convey with that kiss everything he felt and had felt for the thief: all the contradictions, all the fear, the poetry, the dreams, the desire the awe. It seemed like hours passed before they separated to breathe.

“You say that I’m doing this because of Louise’s engagement and that’s right." Montparnasse tensed immediately and Jehan hurried to continue. "But it’s not because I’m jealous or because I want to take some kind of revenge on her. It just got me thinking and I don’t want to end up like her, and I know it’s very unjust to her because she doesn’t have the liberty of choosing that I have, but I don’t want to look back on my life one day and thinking that I’ve missed out on something as special as this, as special as you, because I was afraid of what other people may think of me. I love you, Montparnasse.”

They kissed again, more slowly and sweetly this time. Montparnasse’s hands were back in his hair.

“Not even your love’s going to change me, robin, I’ll still be a murderer," the other warned eyeing him worryingly as if Jehan would suddenly change his mind. Jehan leaned his head on the thief’s chest.

“I know, but that’s who you are, right? I can’t say that it’s the part that I love most about you, but it still made you what you are now so I can’t hate it.”

“What are your friends going to say?”

“I don’t care.”

“Yes, you do. You love them more than you’ll ever be able to love me.”

“That’s not how love works, Parnasse,” he said sweetly smiling and nuzzling at the juncture of Montparnasse’s neck and shoulder.

“I didn’t have many lessons about love growing up. You’ll have to teach me.”

He could feel his smirk against his hair.

“That I’ll do,” he said making his way up towards the thief’s chin.

“But you still care about their opinion.”

Jehan sighed and looked him in the eye with a suffering expression.

“Put your clothes on at least if you’re planning to spend all the night talking.”

Montparnasse laughed but took the shirt Jehan was offering him.

They sat on the edge of the bed, their shoulders touching, Montparnasse’s feet were trying to dig a hole in the carpet and Jehan realized how nervous the thief was. He took his hand in his.

They talked most of the night.

The first light of the morning caught them kissing on the still intact bedsheets. Birds were singing and the sounds of Paris waking up were filtering through the window. They broke the kiss. Montparnasse was cradling Jehan face in his hands, watching him with the fiery passion reserved only for him.

“It was the nightingale and not the lark, that pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear. Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate-tree: believe me, love, it was the nightingale,” he whispered against the poet’s lips.

Jehan was too distracted to realize immediately what he was saying but then it sunk in.

“Is that Shakespeare?” He asked breathlessly. He could feel a new wave of lust and arousal spreading through his body. And felt his face blush with the force of it.

“You always talk about these writers and poets I wanted to understand so I’d be able to talk with you about them and not just listen.”

Despite Montparnasse’s very serious expression, he saw the tips of his ear becoming red.

“You’re so dramatic,” Jehan said laughing joyfully and kissed him again with the full force of his happiness. But when Montparnasse’s hands started roaming over his body with a very obvious intent he had to stop them and rested his forehead against his lover’s shoulder.

“I fear you’ll need to go now." Montparnasse made a sound of protest. "You have to, or I’ll be unable to make myself presentable to go out with you distracting me.”

“Then don’t make yourself presentable. Stay here with me.”

“I really can’t. I have an early lecture this morning.”

“Skip it.”

“And I want to pass to the Musain first to talk to Louison.”

“One way or another she always manages to ruin my day.”

Jehan shoved him playfully.

“That’s not fair, just the other day she made you a compliment. She said you dress nice.”

“Only ‘nice’? Who does she think she is? I dress wonderfully," he protested, but he was starting to redress himself so Jehan counted it as a win.

They prepared themselves in a comfortable silence, stealing glances at one another every now and then.

Jehan showed Montparnasse the door and they kissed, smiling on the threshold with promises to meet again that night and pick up where they stopped the previous night.

“You cannot steal what has been given to you freely, you know,” Jehan said before the thief could disappear down the stairs.

“Of course, that would take all the fun away from stealing.”

“Well, I hope so, my heart is not a matter to make fun of,” he commented and closed the door, but not before seeing the expression of utter delighted shock on Montparnasse’s face.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am like more than possibly late, I'm so, so sorry, but life happened. Here's the last chapter, hope you like it and let me know what you think. As Always thanks to my incredible beta lawrofsakaar who put up with my lateness.

+1

“You’re making no sense.”

“I’m just trying to reason with you, but as always you’re acting as if I didn’t have the brain to do it.”

“You know that’s not true.”

“Then listen to me.”

Montparnasse stirred near Jehan, he had stolen most of the covers, but the poet didn’t mind, the June sun filtering through the blinds had warmed the bedroom enough for him.

“I fear there are robbers in your house, robin. Not even very good ones," he commented trying to cover his ears with the cushions.

“They’re no robbers. They’re Combeferre and Courfeyrac.”

“Why are your friends in your house so early in the morning?” He complained.

“Courfeyrac has a copy of the keys, for emergencies. Of course, he usually abuses them, but today he’s here for the right cause. I asked them to come to call me for the funeral.”

Montparnasse stopped his attempts to get more comfortable under the sheets.

“I forgot it was today,” he said trying to sound calm.

The distressed voices of his friends were still coming from the other room. They had started arguing the moment they had entered Jehan’s lodgings and seemed more interested in resolving their quarrel than disturbing the young poet.

“Yes, I was hoping you would forget,” he said moving under the covers. He knew it was time to get up, but he would have gladly spent a couple more hours on that bed with Montparnasse. Well, Revolution didn’t wait for any romance, as Enjolras would have said.

“How so?” Asked Montparnasse propping himself on an elbow and looking at Jehan curiously. The poet had to concentrate to remember what they were talking about, thoughts of the imminent events of the day had completely occupied his mind since he had heard his friends entering the apartment and it was difficult to focus on anything else.

“I didn’t want you to feel the need to make some kind of farewell statement or now-or-never act,” he answered and started rising from the bed. He had to think about how to dress. Enjolras had recommended somber clothes, but he wasn’t really sure he actually possessed any of those. Maybe he could have asked Combeferre.

“I don’t understand how all of you can be so sure.”

“Parnasse, we’ve already talked about this,” he commented with finality.

Some of the cruelest arguments as well as some of the sweetest words had come from discussions about Jehan’s efforts in the revolutionary business. That morning though the poet didn’t want to talk about that, he didn’t want to part ways with the love of his life in a sour mood. He could have been optimistic at heart, but Jehan knew there was a chance of him not coming back to the arms of his dear Montparnasse.

“Yes, yes, I know. I’m just being a hypocrite and this is not your first riot,” he said almost in a sing-song manner. He let himself fall back on the bed with a sigh. 

Jehan felt a pang of guilt. He knew what it was like lying awake wondering if your love was ever going to come back to you. Montparnasse was usually better to reassure him.

“Tomorrow we will walk hand in hand in a free world, my love. You don’t have to worry,” he said searching for his darkest pair of trousers.

“Or I’ll have to find someplace to hide you from the king’s guards. And some of your friends probably,” he added, but he sounded more playful than before, and he was more sprawled on the bed so Jehan interpreted that as progress.

“We can still hold hands while we’re running, could we not?” He asked and went over the bed to leave a kiss on Parnasse’s nose. He smiled and looked at the trousers in his hands critically.

“You want to go to a funeral with those?”

“They are blue, what’s wrong with them?” He demanded confused.

“People stopped wearing those at least twenty years ago. I don’t even know how you were able to find them.”

“Oh, stop it, they’re nice. What vest should I put with them?”

“Not the one you’re thinking about, for sure.”

Jehan turned to retort indignantly but in that moment a louder shout came from the other room and both him and Montparnasse looked at the door, one worried, the other annoyed.

“Shouldn’t they be here to call you?” Montparnasse asked.

“Yes, they should. I presume they get distracted.”

“That Apollo of yours will not be happy if you show up late.”

“You really should not call Enjolras that, he doesn’t like it.”

“That’s exactly why I’m calling him that. What are your friend arguing over anyway?”

“I’m not sure, but I’m guessing more or less about what you wanted to argue about earlier.”  
Montparnasse stayed silent for a moment. Jehan suspected he was trying to listen to the two other men’s words.

“Isn’t Courfeyrac going to fight with you?” He asked surprised.

“Of course, he is!”

“So why is he trying to convince the philosopher not to go today?”

“Well, I think you’ll find the reason in the obnoxious nickname you gave our dear Combeferre. He’s never been much of a fighter and he despises violence in any form, he understands that this is the only way for the new future, but when he talks about it he lacks the fervor of Enjolras. Courfeyrac’s probably worried it’ll be too much to bear for Combeferre’s conscience.”

“The philosopher isn’t taking it well.”

“Understandably.”

Montparnasse grunted.

“There’s no reason on Earth you should choose that cravat,” he said pained. He got up from the bed and moved Jehan in front of the wardrobe. He rummaged for a bit through his lover’s cravats and extracted a red one with little golden leaves embroidered on it.

“Isn’t this a little too colorful for a funeral?” Jehan asked unsure.

“You’re not just going to a funeral today, you’re going to start a new world," he answered starting to arrange the cravat around the other’s neck. "Red is a good color for a revolution.”

Jehan felt his breath hitching. He would have never imagined that receiving Montparnasse’s blessing would have felt that way: he felt like he could raise mountains or change the course of rivers.  
Montparnasse lifted his eyes to meet his lover’s. He seemed unsure as if trying to determine whether or not the poet had appreciated the gesture. Jehan kissed him.

“I thought I said no farewell statement,” he said when they broke apart caressing the thief’s cheekbone with his thumb tenderly.

“Believe me, it isn’t. I’m just trying not to send you towards the new world dressed as if you chose your clothes in the darkness.”  
The poet smacked him on the shoulder with a cry of protest.

“Prouvaire, are you awake?” Came the voice of Courfeyrac from the other side of the door.

“Yes, no thanks to you two," he answered shaking his head. "Wait for me outside, I’ll arrive shortly.”

“As you wish, my dear," Courfeyrac said and then added, probably to Combeferre." He must be with Montparnasse, let’s give them some privacy.”

“I like Courfeyrac, he seems a decent fellow," commented Parnasse, his arms tightening around Jehan’s middle.

“I’ll make sure to let him know this.”

Montparnasse hummed.

“You can’t. I have a reputation to maintain. I can’t let some of your friends think that I find them bearable.”

“Well, I’ll make sure to tell Courfeyrac you said this too, so he’ll know he ought not to tell anybody,” Jehan said his hands shifting from Montparnasse’s shoulders to his hips.

Montparnasse laughed. He had such a beautiful laugh, but he laughed so rarely. Even when they were just the two of them, Montparnasse’s movements always seemed so calculated. Jehan loved how he was learning to let himself go when they were together. The thief hid his face in the crook of Jehan’s shoulder and breathed in slowly.

“If I wasn’t so proud to have you finally in decent clothes I would get them off of you,” he said against his skin.

“You could try to get me out of these clothes, but I have no intention of not going to this funeral. It’s important," the poet said separating from the other man. They were both still smiling and happy. Looking at the light in Montparnasse’s eyes made Jehan feel like he could build a barricade all by himself.

“You really have to go now, don’t you?” The thief asked sitting on the bed.

“I’m afraid so.”

“You’ll try to discover what was going on between Courfeyrac and the philosopher?”

“Someone sounds interested,” Jehan replied with a smirk putting on his shoes.

“Brujon says that knowledge is power.”

Jehan hummed sarcastically. And laughed when Montparnasse rolled his eyes. He leaned in and gave him a soft kiss. They lingered for a moment too long maybe, but neither of them said anything.

“Now I really need to go.”

“I know.”

“Don’t try to search for me, all right?”

“You know I will.”

Jehan sighed.

“Yes, I know. I’ll wait for you then.”

And with that, he exited the bedroom and reached Combeferre and Courfeyrac on the street.

 

Later that day Jehan found himself vibrating with excitement. Everything was going exactly as planned. He could feel the energy in the air like thunder before a storm.  
Not everything had been perfect, of course.  
The execution of that man had left a wound even before the actual battle had begun, but out of all of them, it was clear Enjolras was the one bearing more damages.

They were waiting.

“Prouvaire, someone’s looking for you.” the voice of Bossuet distracted him from his reverie.

“Who’s that?”

“I don’t know him. Someone near the Corinthe asked about the poet. I guessed he was talking about you.”

Jehan could imagine who that would turn out to be.

“Thank you, Lesgle.”

“Your welcome. Just be careful,” he said before heading towards Enjolras and Combeferre who were talking animatedly near the smallest of the two barricades.

Near the almost deserted entrance of the Corinthe, a black figure was waiting, leaning against the building’s wall, he stood in the shadows, face half covered by a top hat.

“You really could not wait until this evening, could you?” Jehan asked smiling. If he had been excited before, seeing Montparnasse made him feel almost ecstatic. He wanted to take him and make him see how majestically beautiful the people could be fighting for a better world.

Montparnasse smiled at the words but Jehan knew him enough to see it was not completely genuine.

“Parnasse, why are you here?” he asked suspiciously, his excitement draining from him in a moment. The thief’s smile fell in less than a second and a dark expression appeared on his face.

“I know I promised you I wouldn’t do this,” he said slowly. His voice was low and scratchy like he was fighting against a lump in his throat.

“Parnasse.”

Jehan had an idea of what his lover was going to say and he really didn’t want to hear that. Not after all they had said to each other, all the steps forward they had taken, and not in that moment, in the fulgid moment before the dawn of a new era.

“Robin, you have to listen to me, please.”

“Parnasse, stop.”

“I’ll never be able to forgive myself if I don’t ask you to get away from all of this and stay with me.”

“So, what is this? Some egoistic plan to guilt me into coming home with you? Do you think I don’t know what the risks are? Do you think I’m not afraid of not being able to see you anymore? Do you think I don’t fear for my friends?”

“Then, why are you still here? You don’t have to go through all of this! Again! The people you are fighting for don’t deserve your help, they are cowards and weak and will let you die.”

“I’m sorry that this has been your experience with people in your life, but not everyone…”

“At least I have experience.”

Jehan recoiled at those words and took a step back. He looked at Montparnasse’s face but the thief’s expression was blank and cold.

Well then, he thought bitterly. It was clear Montparnasse had gone there just to alleviate his conscience or something like that and he was not disposed to play this game of his.

“Your experience is not required here. Here we value faith most of all and it is clear you’re devoid of it, even towards me,” he said coldly, and then turned his shoulders on the thief and headed back to the main barricade.

“Jehan! Jehan, wait, please!” the desperate voice of Montparnasse stopped him in spite of himself.

“There something else you have to say?” He asked the other without turning.

“Please, there something strange on the streets today. Nothing good. We sent Claquesous to keep an eye on the situation and he failed to send us news since. Please come home with me. Stay with me.”  
And for the first time in a long time, Montparnasse wasn’t trying to hide his fear. He sounded so young and so scared like Jehan hadn’t ever heard him sound before. He slowly turned around.

Montparnasse was looking at him with an intensity that could have bent a rock. Though the young poet did not bend, his heart trembled.

“Nothing you will say to me will change my mind, my love. If I am to die today, I’ll accept my fate.”

“And what about me? What will become of me without you?” Montparnasse asked, so soft, so gentle as he always was with Jehan.

The poet cupped one of his cheeks with his hand as he gazed into those beautiful dark eyes.

You’ll survive, Parnasse. And maybe you’ll forget about me or maybe not, but you’ll learn to live with the pain. And then one day you’ll discover that the pain has become an old scar.”

“How can you talk like this?”

“It isn’t even one of my best compositions,” he answered with a shrug. That provoked a laugh from the thief, and he kissed him softly, drinking avidly the nectar that was Montparnasse’s laugh.

“I wish we were in that Greek story you like so much,” Montparnasse said when they broke apart, their foreheads still touching.

“Which one?”

“The one where the goddess of the moon kidnaps her lover and makes him sleep forever to look at him for eternity.”

Jehan moved his head to gaze in the other’s eyes.  
“Would you really prefer that?”

Montparnasse laughed bitterly.  
“No, no I wouldn’t.”

“Well, then you have no choice but to let me go towards my faith, but do not weep for me before my time.”

“I’ll wait for you until the moment you come back to me,” Montparnasse said. It sounded so much more than a promise.

The thief disappeared as always, between the shadows and in silence like a cat on the roofs of Paris. Jehan stared at the point where his lover had been for a moment too long before reuniting with his friends.

He felt the need to sing them a song, something to remind them there was still a world waiting for them beyond the barricade.

 

Jehan’s world was dark. Dark as a night without stars or moon. It was not silent though. He could still hear the orders of the captain to the soldiers, he could hear rifles being loaded, he could hear the beating of his heart.

He knew his friends were on the other side of the barricade. He couldn’t know how many of them were still alive, but he hoped all of them. He had seen Marius arriving and saving Courfeyrac from the enemies’ fire, but then things had started getting confused, and he had lost his senses. When he had reopened his eyes there was someone asking him if he wanted a blindfold. He answered spitting blood on the man’s face.

And now he was in the dark.

Time seemed to pass incredibly slowly.

He was glad he had so many memories to relive: his mother teaching him how to play the flute, his father teaching him Greek, Feuilly’s expression when he talked about Poland and Italy, Bahorel’s smiles, Courfeyrac’s easy excitement, and Louise’s laugh.

And there were more: the first time he heard Enjolras speak about liberty and equality, late-night talks with Combeferre about literature and ghosts, Musichetta’s sweet voice, Bossuet’s sense of humor, Joly’s surprised expression and Grantaire’s way of moving his arms while speaking.

Grantaire… he hadn’t seen him on the barricade, maybe he was safe somewhere else. Somewhere else, like Montparnasse. His lovely thief was going to have his heart broken, but he was strong and resilient, he was going to survive, to forget about him, to bring red roses to someone else and find happiness in someone else’s eyes. It was a bit painful to think about that, but at the same time gave him the strength to keep his spine erect while the captain gave his man the order to take aim.

“Some last words?” The captain asked somewhere in the darkness.

Jehan smiled and tasted blood on his tongue.

“Vive la France! Long live France! Long live the future!” He shouted at the top of his voice hoping his friends would hear him and find in his words the force to go on with the fight.

Before hearing the shot, he smelled a scent of roses in the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo this is the end. Hope you enjoyed the ride. I sure did even if it was more difficult to write than the last story. This is not the last part of the series there'll be more but for now I'm working on something else. If you like it live a comment and come to say hi on my Tumblr lenezdansleruisseu


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